


Catharsis

by Dantastic_Poco



Category: Monster Hunter (Video Games)
Genre: F/M, Light BDSM, Platonic BDSM, Spanking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-03
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:28:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25042417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dantastic_Poco/pseuds/Dantastic_Poco
Summary: Writing the definitive monster manual is no easy task, and Sophia, the Caravan's Guildmarm, wonders if she's really up to the task.  Beneath her poised front, she cannot shake the anxiety and self-doubt that her creative efforts are in vain.  However, on an expedition to gain some valuable first-hand experience, the Hunter offers a suggestion for a way to possibly overcome her nerves...
Relationships: Guildmarm | Sophia/Hunter(s)
Comments: 1
Kudos: 13





	1. The Rules

**Chapter 1: The Rules**

“Doodle, could you… Could you describe the Monoblos’ roar in a little more detail than just--” she looked at her notes--“‘loud’?” Sophia--or as her less friendly acquaintances knew her, The Guildmarm--was trying not to be frustrated with the Hunter. He had, after all, been instrumental in her own success. However, now that the caravan was on the move hunting down rarer, and less researched monsters, it was becoming clear that his talents were limited to the physical side of the work, and not the academic side. They had formed a routine--by this point almost a tradition--of meeting up at a local cafe for drinks as soon as he returned from a hunt, to compare notes. Or more accurately, for him to describe the monster’s attributes and behaviors to the best of his abilities, while she took notes.

The hunter, for his part, was trying. He had done this last hunt without earplugs specifically to answer this question, and his ears were still ringing as a result of the experiment. This had the side effect of talking louder than usual, and he was drawing occasional glances from other patrons. “It starts as a grumble, you feel it in your chest more than hear it.”

“Oh, that’s good!” She snatched up her pen and started scribbling down the description.

“And then he pulls his head back, inhales, and there’s this moment of quiet…”

“Yes… And then?!” She abandoned her usual perfect posture and leaned forward, listening attentively, balanced--literally, as it turns out--on the edge of her seat.

“And then--” he faltered. “Bwarrgh? It’s a roar! What does a roar sound like? Just a loud noise!”

Her balancing act failed, and she slipped from the chair, smacking her chin on the table, dropping her pen, losing her hat, and drawing the attention from all nearby tables in the cafe. By the time she had shaken off the shock of the fall and come to her senses, the Hunter was standing over her, offering her his hand to help her up. She took it, and noticed the neatly spaced gashes in his forearm, soaking through the bandages. “Are those from its claws?”

“Yeah, you wanna see the talon pattern?” he was already partway through unwinding the bandage before she could stop him.

“No, no, you brought us the whole leg. I just noticed the blood. It must have hurt.”

“Ahh, it’s just pain.”  _ Just  _ pain. She always noticed when he talked this way. Of course she was being too hard on him. He suffered through the battle, the injuries, and the fear--though he never showed it--all to try and bring her information for her monster manual. “Besides,” he continued, “you’re the one with the hard job.”

“I am?” Her eyebrows shot up and she laid down her pen. “I just catalogue information and submit it for review!”

The hunter nodded. “You wait. You worry. You submit your draft and then you pace up and down the street like a Deviljho patrolling its territory--only anxious instead of scary. Me, I just go out and get hit and I hit back. Once I’m hurting, that’s the worst of it over. It clears my head and makes it so I can just focus on what’s in front of me.”

She closed her eyes and thought a few moments about what he said. He was remarkably perceptive--the anxiety was the worst part of her job. And not just the waiting after a submission; often deciding what to include and what not, fretting about editorializing too much, or--heaven forbid--being accused of fangirling, they could cripple her writing efforts before she even began. She opened her eyes and nodded, making a resolution with herself. Perhaps throwing herself into a new adventure was exactly what she needed to get unstuck, and perhaps this would solve the problem of describing the roar as well.

“How soon can you be ready to go back out there? I’m coming with you this time, Doodle. I need to hear this roar for myself.”

The Hunter smiled. “I can be ready tomorrow! After killing a few of them they’re a little skittish, so they’ll stay burrowed after the airship leaves for at least a couple days. We’ll need to stay at base camp until they’ve calmed down enough to come back out. We’ll also need a few days worth of food, and--” 

“Wait.” She held up her hand, eyebrows furrowed, suddenly realizing. “A moment ago. Did you just compare me to a Deviljho?”

“--oh. I did. Because you wear green? And because when you’re angry you bear your teeth and…” he meekly gestured with his hand, “and that vein on your neck pops out.”

\-----

The transport airship dropped them off at basecamp, along with supplies for three days. With no way to signal for pickup, Sophia and the Hunter would need to survive here until the rendezvous at noon, 72 hours from their dropoff. If everything went according to plan, they would encounter the Monoblos, and she could experience its roar first-hand, to include in her Monster Manual research. However, the Hunter believed the surviving Monoblos would not show itself until the airship had been gone for a while. So now all she could do was wait.

She hated waiting.

Doodle was organizing his items. Packing potions, canisters of warm drinks in case of a cold snap, antidotes for poisons, and checking the meat he had cooking over the fire regularly to make sure he had enough to keep his stamina up through a protracted hunt. He had a remarkable knack for staying busy. Sophia was not used to this environment at all, and felt like she was, at best, extra baggage, and at worst, in the way. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?” she asked for the fourth time.

“You can save your energy in case you need to do some running tomorrow. You’ve already paced at least four miles around our camp. You don’t need to worry. Everything is in my hands from here on out. It’s all my responsibility. Just relax.”

“Relax is exactly what I can’t do,” she sighed. “You’ve known me for months. You see how I am. I can’t just let something be someone else’s problem. Success doesn’t wait around for me. Success doesn’t lurk in the bushes to jump out and ambush me. I have to march out and take it by the horns, and any time I sit waiting for someone else to do their part, that’s a success I missed out on by not doing it myself.” She sat down next to the Hunter, and almost immediately stood back up. “How do you do it? How do you stay so calm, not knowing what you need to be ready for, or when? How do you manage to accept that the whole world is doing its own thing at its own pace, and that it’s not your job to keep in front of it?” 

The hunter smiled. “Some days you get an easy hunt, some days the hunt gets you. The bad ones hurt, but that just makes you grateful for the good ones. So I’m also grateful for the bad ones, too. They give me perspective.”

“And pain,” she added. “You mentioned the pain helps you focus.”

“Yes, that too,” the hunter agreed with a smile. “Pain makes the worry evaporate. Anticipating the bad that’s around the corner is the worst part. What, after all, is there to worry about, if the hardship is already here? And what is there to lament when I can feel myself overcoming the pain? 

Sophia shook her head. “I’m not sure I understand you even in theory. Monsters often are able to shrug off pain and use it to drive their survival instincts, but we don’t have much insight into the physiology of the behavior to even guess if it’s a trait we share. Unfortunately, my job doesn’t afford me the same form of direct experience. Either my writing is a success, or it’s not. The failure there teaches me, but it doesn’t focus me.”

“It sounds like you need genuine pain to crack through that anxiety, and give you a reason to appreciate the here and now.”

“I can’t subject myself to the kind of injuries you do. I don’t have the endurance; I don’t have the training!” Sophia crossed her arms. “Why are you smiling? Are you making fun of me?”

The hunter laughed outright, and put his hands up in a placative gesture. “No, no! Nothing like that. It’s just amusing how little experience you have.”

She narrowed her eyes. “How so?”

“There are ways to inflict controlled pain without injury. New hunters often go through hazing rituals that are designed to do just that. And many continue with it as part of their regular conditioning, or even just because they like it. When things are too easy, we cave in to anxieties, too. I’ve been helping Ace Gunner with that while she’s been on leave actually.”

Sophia noticed that he was being intentionally vague. It wasn’t a stammer in his voice exactly, but there was something he was holding back. “You and the Ace Gunner, huh? I’d heard rumors about you two, but I figured it was just that…” It was a question specifically designed to lure out a more specific answer.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that, we aren’t a, uh… That is to say, she’s not my…”

She pounced on his hesitation. “If the two of you aren’t intimate, then why is it so hard for you to just come out with it?”

“It’s not intimate! Not… Well, not exactly. When she needs to clear her head we find a room and I spank her.”

Sophia felt her cheeks redden, and she looked away. She wasn’t expecting  _ that.  _ “You’re suggesting I find somebody to  _ hit _ me?! How could that possibly help with my anxiety?”

“You know psychology isn’t my forte; no way I could hope to explain it to you. But if you want, I can show you.”

“No I do  _ not _ want you to show me! I’d never want a partner to strike me!”

“We’re not talking about being partners.” The hunter stood up and faced her directly, making every effort to lay it on the line as clear as possible, without misunderstanding. “I’m not saying it’s without some, um, affection? Sexual tension? I’m not going to lie that those things aren’t in play. But I’m not offering to be your mate. I’m just offering to give you a spanking to see how you feel about it. If it helps, that’s great! If it doesn’t, then you’ll know that too.” He saw her draw in a deep breath and she looked like she was about to respond angrily, but he held up a hand, the way she often did to silence him. “You can dismiss the idea outright if you like, but I’d much rather you hear the rules and sleep on it before giving an answer.”

“There’s  _ rules _ ? What, I suppose I’m not allowed to tell anyone about the things you’d do to me under threat of further pain?”

“No! The rules are so that you always have a way to take control of the situation! So that you feel safe!” The hunter was clearly becoming exasperated. “Forget it. I just thought it might help you the same way it helps Ace Gunner. You two must just be too different from each other. I’m sorry I mentioned it.”

Sophia thought of the Ace Gunner. Strong, confident, calm under pressure. She couldn’t imagine her anxious. Indeed, they did seem to be two opposite ends of a spectrum. But if she also dealt with anxiety, then clearly there was more in common there than Sophia might have guessed. And if it was so well hidden, then she must be doing something right to deal with it. “Are these the same rules Ace Gunner agrees to?”

“Of course. They’re the rules. They’re the same for everyone I spank.”

“Okay. I’m not agreeing to anything yet, but let’s hear ‘em.”

_____

**The Rules**

Rule #1: When you say we stop, we stop. You don’t realize it yet, but this is the hardest part. You will sometimes be startled by the pain you feel, and think for a moment you need to stop, and immediately after realize that you can handle it. You want to push yourself to your limits and find just how far you can take it. Finding your limit is the way you test yourself. You want to hold out through as much as you can handle, because as soon as you give in and say “stop,” we’re done.

Rule #2: Until you enact Rule #1, you are entirely in my hands. I will give you orders. I will move you as I want you. I will restrain you, but never in such a way that prevents your speaking out. Disobedience will be considered a call to stop. 

Rule #3: Once we stop, we enter the aftercare phase. You tell me what you need, and I take care of all of those needs. Making sure that you are healthy and happy and feeling like you can cope with the experience.

_____

“Rules #4 and #5 are for first-timers. They are specifically to prevent you getting in over your head or doing something you might later regret while feeling overwhelmed with the situation.”

“I think you might just be under-estimating my self control,” she said with no small amount of venom in her voice.

“Nothing to do with you personally--it’s for all first timers.”

_____

**The Rules (Continued…):**

Rule #4: We follow a very slow build. The first strikes will be gentle, no pain at all, just to get you used to having hands on you. The buildup to genuine painful spanking will be slow, so you will know when your personal limit is approaching. 

Rule #5: No sex. Things get heated, and in that moment it’s easy to try something you regret after. If anyone steps over the line, that’s it, that’s the end, it’s over.

_____

“Hah! As though anyone would suddenly throw herself at a man just because he gave her bottom some attention!” 

The hunter averted his eyes and smiled. 

“...Has that happened before?” 

He nodded, eyes still averted.

“...Did Ace Gunner?”

“If she did, would it be right of me to tell you so? Would you want me to tell someone else that you did?” This was followed by an awkward pause. 

“I can’t believe you’re even suggesting this!” Sophia laughed. “No. No. I’m not interested. Thank you, I suppose, for thinking of my--hah!--my well-being, but--” she continued laughing nervously. “--but I’ve never… I could never let someone. Just no. No thank you.” She nodded, as though to say “that’s settled.”

However, Sophia was anything but settled. Throughout the evening, preparing camp for the three night stay, she was rattled. Her fingers would fumble uselessly with simple tasks, and she couldn’t keep her thoughts centered on anything productive. The hunter, accustomed to a lifestyle of sleeping early and rising with the dawn, bathed in the river while she pretended to get some writing done, but she couldn’t commit anything useful to the page. Once he returned, she went to the clear pool along the banks of the river herself, and was shocked at the cold of the water on her skin. Walking back to the camp after, she felt refreshed, and was certain that the cold water had banished all distraction from her mind, and when she returned and heard the hunter snoring in his tent, she was sure that her feelings on the matter were truly laid to rest, and that things now would easily go back to the ordinary way they’d been since Doodle joined the caravan. 

Sleep though, did not find her easily. Her book was nearly ready for publication. She knew it, at an intellectual level. But her doubts kept crowding around her. It was as good as she could get it, but what if her best wasn’t good enough? What if she turned in the finest work she was capable of it, and it was rejected out of hand? What if the whole of her passion and her life’s work simply amounted to the amateurish efforts of an overenthusiastic fangirl?

When those thoughts threatened to overtake her, her mind kept returning to that morning at the cafe, when she'd fallen. She took The Hunter’s hand and he lifted her to her feet. As she dozed in her bed, she imagined that hand on the lower back of the Ace Gunner, slipping lower. She imagined the loud smack of his hand on her flesh, her mouth falling open in a silent gasp. She imagined the Ace Gunner’s knees trembling, and the soft flesh of her thighs rippling under another strike. Then suddenly Doodle’s hand wasn’t on the Ace Gunner anymore. His hands were on her own body, at the waistline of her shorts, which he tugged down to her knees with ease. That hand that had helped her up rested on her bottom, cupping one fleshy cheek in its grasp. She felt his hand pull back, and she tried to shout at him to stop, but the word wouldn’t come, and then--

And then her eyes snapped open, and she felt her mouth dry, and a dull ache between her thighs, throbbing in time with her racing heart. The sun was not yet up, but the sky was lightening in the east. She could just barely hear the hunter up, moving around, double checking his supplies for the day. On her knees at the flap of her tent, she peeked out and watched him work. She couldn’t deny a certain fixation on his hands. She watched him pull a whetstone from his pack and begin sharpening his lance. She wasn’t attracted to him--not exactly. But now that the idea was in her head, she couldn’t shake it. She trusted him. She believed he knew what he was talking about. She watched his hands tighten on the whetstone and his forearm flex, and she caught herself licking her lips. "Ugh. I'm never going to shake this thought now that it's in my head, am I?" 

Before she could change her mind, she threw open the tent and marched across the campsite toward the very confused looking Hunter. 

“Uh…” He stammered “G--Good morni--”

“I agree to the rules! You said sleep on it, I slept on it, now I want to try it. Tonight! You’re in?” She stood straight as an arrow, trying desperately to take on her usual calm, upright demeanor. As though she always casually asked friendly coworkers to spank her.

“Um. Sure! I’ll uh. I’ll make sure to gather some supplies while I’m out on today’s hunt. The big one won’t be out there yet today, so I thought I’d um. I thought I’d warm up with something a little easier.”

“What’s wrong with you? Why are you being weird? What are you staring at? Spit it out, what’s got your mouth stopped up this time?”

The hunter immediately switched his focus to a very unremarkable white stone at the edge of the campsite. “It’s just… I was going to say, that’s an interesting hairstyle. It reminds me of a Great Maccao after its crest is, well that is to say, after I’ve… When the crest is broken and it’s hacked up. But then I remembered the last time I said something about you resembling a monst--”

She had already marched off at a pace that would be comical if it hadn’t come paired with such distress. She stepped inside her tent, opened the box that contained her small vanity mirror, and beheld the most catastrophic bed-head she had ever witnessed on her own or anyone else’s scalp.

“BWAAAAARRRRGGH!”


	2. The Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sophia, the Guildmarm, has agreed to the rules laid out by the Hunter, and goes along with his plan to manage her anxieties with pain, in the form of spanking. But how much can she endure before she needs to stop?

**Chapter 2: The Helping Hand**

By the time Sophia had made herself presentable, the Hunter had already left camp. He had mentioned there was next to no chance the Monoblos would show himself today, but had insisted on going out to gather supplies. She was unsure what could possibly be necessary that he might not have brought with him, but she couldn’t deny that the Hunter knew his craft. Clearly, the best choice was to let him do his work unhindered. 

She brought out her notebook and tried to write, but again, the words would not come. It was like the flow of ideas in her mind was blocked, and try as she might she couldn’t dislodge the obstruction. Instead, her mind would begin to wander, and a restless tremble would find its way into her limbs. She got up from her stool to pace, her usual means of coping with anxiety, but found that she was feeling light-headed, and so sat back down, unable to work on her writing, but unable to think clearly about anything except for the trivial activities of her morning, waiting for the hours to bring the evening.

Of course, the real reason she was fixating on the minutiae of the day was because she had just agreed to something that before this morning, she had had no interest in. Something she previously would never have even considered. She had little hope that spanking could cure, or even alleviate her anxieties. After all, they’d been a part of her as long as she had been aware that failure was a possibility in any endeavor. Confidence was, at best, reserved for trivial matters, and beyond that was a simple matter of fake-it-til-you-make-it, or as she had grown to realize, could more accurately be described as fake-it-and-now-that-you’re-used-to-faking-it-keep-right-on-doing-that. 

So if she had so little belief that it would work, why agree to it? Why agree to willingly be subjected to pain here, in the middle of the wilderness, miles away from a doctor, days from the soonest rescue? Why subject herself to such an intimate activity with a man whom she had no romantic interest in? She knew the answer of course. She had seen this Hunter’s hands overcome the impossible time after time. She had seen him wrestle with monsters that he ought to have no hope of defeating, and somehow come through victorious. If he could fend off the mighty Shagaru Magala, wasn’t it just possible that another impossible adversary, her anxiety, might be similarly beaten into submission?

_ “Submission” _ ? She felt herself blushing.  _ I am submitting. I’m submitting myself wholly to his care. I’m submitting to his rules.  _ The idea of having to follow rules to be spanked was something she had balked at, but now those rules seemed to give her some comfort. They were the means by which she could regain control over the situation at any time. 

“Nothing to worry about,” she said to herself. “You’ll just give it a try, it will be an awkward mistake, the two of you will laugh about it for a couple days and then never speak of it again.” She nodded to herself, and having settled on the outcome she was sure of, she was finally able to pass the time somewhat productively.

_____

The sun was not yet down when the Hunter returned, his bag stuffed with parts and plants gathered during the day’s outing, as well as a large Lagombi pelt over his shoulder. On arrival, he marched straight into his tent, and emerged a few minutes later without his armor or lance, and looking exhausted. Sophia caught herself hoping, for just a moment, that he would no longer be up for their planned evening activity. Then she could tell him tomorrow that she thought better of it and decided she’d rather not, and… Of course, she could tell him that now, couldn’t she? She felt trapped in indecision, and had no idea what course of action she could take, when the Hunter spoke up.

“You might want to consider wearing a thong.”

“A  _ what? _ ” She hadn’t been expecting such a direct comment.

“There’s no need to be embarrassed, you know what a thong is. You wear them with your white shorts.”

“Okay, first off, how would you know that unless you were looking at my butt? And second, why on earth do you think you get to tell me what kind of underwear I wear!”

The Hunter ran his hand through his hair and looked impatient with having to explain. “Of course I look at your butt. Everybody looks at your butt, Sophia.”

Her mouth fell open, on the cusp of expressing some general outrage at the suggestion, but her mind could only get as far as “ _ everyone?” _

“And second, I’m not telling you what to wear, I’m making a suggestion. I can’t spank you through your clothes, so either you wear underwear that exposes your butt, or…” He trailed off and gestured with his hand in such a way as to suggest “follow the line of reasoning from there.”

“I didn’t bring one with me.” She inhaled, intending to follow it up with “so I guess we’ll have to call the whole thing off,” but the words wouldn’t reach her lips. She inhaled again, and again she exhaled without words.

“Then I guess you’re going bottomless!”

_____

The Hunter prepared dinner for both of them, and they ate mostly in silence. Occasionally he would make some mundane observation, trying to cut the tension, but Sophia was hard pressed to find an enthusiastic response. She still sat straight, maintained her upright posture, and looked every bit the lady she wanted to convey to the world, but her thoughts were a jumble, and she couldn’t assemble them into words. All the words she thought she wanted to say died on her lips in the face of this absurd situation she found herself in. The Hunter was saying something to her, but she wasn’t hearing him. She shook her head trying to get her thoughts under control.

“I’m sorry, can you repeat that? I was distracted.”

“Are you ready to begin?”

“Yes, of course. I was just wondering if you were losing the nerve to go through with it.” She smiled in that way that she knew made her seem in control of the situation, though she didn’t feel it for a moment. 

The Hunter stood, took her hand, and pulled her to her feet. “Come with me.” He led her into the main tent. Her heart started racing, feeling that she was just moments away from what she’d been waiting all day for with… what? Dread? Anticipation? She followed. He led her straight through, guided her with his hand at the small of her back, until she was facing the back panel of the tent. “Kneel here.” He said.

“Kneel? No! Why?” She was confused. What did kneeling here have to do with being spanked.

“You agreed to follow the rules. The rules are you obey, unless you’re ready to stop before we even begin.”

“Bu--”

“Shhh,” the Hunter said. It was a gentle Shhh, but uncompromising. “Kneel.”

She knelt. She dropped to her knees facing the back of the tent, her entire field of view filled with it, the Hunter’s hand on the back of her head. 

“Good girl. Now wait here while I prep a few things. You won’t have to wait long--I got most of it ready before I came back to camp.” He walked away, leaving her there. 

She felt her breathing shallow in her chest. She was nervous. Excited even. But not worried. She was not fearful at all, and even the anticipation wasn’t causing her anxiety to build. She was well within her own control. The rules were there for her. The rules wouldn’t let this become unmanageable. She was required to obey, but she kept Rule #1 foremost in her mind. The idea that she could stop this at any moment allowed her to safely indulge in the excitement. 

She heard the Hunter gather a few things, and heard a soft thud outside. Every second of waiting stretched into what felt like hours, but the wait felt like it was only sweetening the anticipation she was finally letting herself feel. Finally, she heard his footsteps approaching, until he was standing im mediately behind her, leaning over her. He put one hand on her shoulder, then traced his fingers up the front of her neck, lifting her chin so that she was looking up at him. 

“Close your eyes.” She closed them. She heard something, soft lines and the faint tinkle of small metal fittings pulled from the bag, but before she could think to guess what it was, she felt something thin and tight fasten around her neck, snugly, but not so tight as to be uncomfortable. “Open them.” 

A thin metal chain ran from the handgrip in the Hunter’s left hand to a leather strap around her neck. He had put her on a leash. A narrow leather collar fastened with a buckle at the back, and a simple d-ring at her throat. The lead was a thin braided leather cord, which he held the end of in his left hand. His right hand still rested on the side of her face and her neck. 

“We’re going to go for a short walk. All you need to do is follow my lead. Stand.” She stood. He didn’t help her to her feet this time. He watched her. His eyes took in every movement of her body. She felt his gaze on her, and she knew that these were the eyes that noticed when she wore a thong. These eyes had long looked on her when she hadn’t been aware of them. 

The Hunter led her out into the cool evening air, near enough to the camp fire to feel its warmth, and to the large blue supply chest that contained spare hunting equipment. The Lagombi pelt had been draped over it. The hunter stepped next to the box, led her to it, and then placed his hand on her lower back and pulled the leash down the opposite side, guiding her into bending over at the waist. Her fingers splayed out into the Lagombi fur, and she felt its softness against her collarbone, her neck, and under her chin. The hunter fastened the handle end of the leash to the box, and ran his fingers back along the leather lead until his hand was at her throat. He stood over her, and leaning down this far, she couldn’t raise her head high enough to look up at his face. 

His hand continued to the back of her neck, and then down, slowly. Sophia felt her shoulder blades tense under his touch, and goosebumps raise all along her back as his fingers traced her spine through her top. Halfway down her back, he stepped behind her, and his other hand began gently running its course down her right side. He stood with one hand on her waist, and the other pressed firmly into the middle of her back, holding her down. She could feel him, barely an inch separating the backs of her thighs from his lap, and for the first time she understood the “no sex” rule. How easy it would be to get carried away and just--

Her thoughts were abruptly cut off by the feel of the Hunter’s hand on her bare lower back, and then his thumbs hooking under the waistline of her shorts and tugging them down to her knees. Suddenly she could feel the cool night air against parts of her that were normally covered, and she realized just how exposed she was, especially with him keeling right behind her. Was he eye level with…? She couldn’t turn to see. She knew this was coming, had told herself not to panic at being exposed to him, and yet in the moment it took every bit of will she could muster not to tell him to stop now. 

“Lift your right leg out, then your left.” She did as commanded. Now she was truly bare from the bottom of her shirt to the tops of her boots. He laid her shorts a few feet to her right on the top of the box, neatly folded. It was a strange detail, but one that made her feel absolutely more comfortable in his hands. He was caring for her clothing; she had no doubt that he would also take proper care of her. And as she thought about him taking proper care of her, she felt one of his large hands cup her right cheek, and give it a squeeze. 

As he had said when explaining the rules, it was about getting her used to the feel of his hands, but she could feel the desire in those fingers. She knew that squeeze was also about satisfying his need to touch her. Without realizing she was even doing it, she had raised herself onto her toes to better present herself to his touch. His free hand pressed down on her lower back, pushing her back down.

“Keep your feet firmly on the ground. Stand with your feet further apart.”

She shifted her feet a bit. “Like this?”

The Hunter’s hand was on her inner thigh, applying gentle pressure, encouraging her legs to spread further apart. “Here,” he said. “Less likely you’ll fall over.” His hand moved back to her butt. He stood again at her side, one hand holding her firmly in place, the other on her butt. That hand pulled back and a moment later patted her. It was a gentle pat--not really a hit at all. He patted the right cheek once, then rubbed his hand gently along the skin he’d just struck--if you could really call it a strike. He had warned her that he would start gently, but this felt was a slower start than she had expected. He then repeated the same exact motion on the left cheek.

This established a rhythm that would continue for most of the session. Next was less of a pat, and more of a tap. Enough to make her butt jiggle under his hand, but not painful at all, again followed by the gentle caress. So far there was no pain, but she could feel how completely he was in control of her body, and she was struggling to keep her own physical response under control. Her breathing was getting shallow, her heart racing. She was trying to figure out how to keep her hands under control, how to keep them from stroking the Lagombi fur suggestively, when the first real smack connected.

She heard it before she felt it. A quick dry slap, followed by a warm pain sensation spreading out from the point of contact, and the feeling of his hand stroking her now sensitive skin immediately after. And then another. The pain was there, but this wasn’t distressing, or even shocking. It was just enough to focus her attention for a moment, spiking her awareness in an instant, and then letting it flow out as the warm gentle ache reached her. 

Her body fell into the rhythm, leaning into each slap, then relaxing under the caress. Rule #1, which she had clung to as a comfort, started to fade from her awareness. Her mind was humming to the experience. Her breathing found its pattern--sharp inhale on the smack, then a slow drawn out exhale as his fingers stroked the skin that was becoming more and more tender.

Comfort, however, was not the objective. Once the Hunter felt her initial apprehension replaced by this acclimation to the routine, he knew it was time to push the envelope further. It was, after all, a test of her endurance, to see how far she could go before she needed to stop. He gave another smack, a little harder than the previous, and let it linger just a moment. Just long enough for her to feel that something was changing. 

“We aren’t done yet, are we?” she groaned over her shoulder. She was shocked at how eager she sounded. 

“Shh.” He grabbed her right hand at the wrist. The motion was direct, but not forceful, as he pulled it behind her back, and held it there. Then he pulled the other hand behind her back as well, her forearms now parallel across her lower back. He held both of her wrists with his left hand, and with his right he wound a soft cord around her wrists. 

“This is called a two-column tie,” he told her. “It won’t dig into your skin if you pull against it, but I wouldn’t pull too hard if you can help it. You could strain something.” She felt the rope secure her two arms together tightly in place. She gave a gentle tug at it, and knew it would hold. The comfort she’d felt just a moment earlier was boiling into uncertainty again. His left hand pressed her shoulder down firmly again, her face in the soft fur. His right gave her butt an appreciative stroke. Then his hand left her skin and--

It was like a lightning bolt arced through her back into her brainstem. A loud crack, the sound she would normally associate with a whip. Her whole upper body raised itself from the chest she was resting on. She felt her shoulders strain as her hands tried to pull free from the rope. She heard a loud gasp and knew it must be her own voice. The moment the pain--real pain, this time--began to reach her, her eyes went wide as another lightning bolt streaked up her back from the other cheek. Her ragged inhale was cut off in a whimper. She had pulled herself almost upright with those two hits, and finally began to slump forward, knowing she would hit the top of the supply box with an unceremonious thud, but unable to stop herself. 

She was surprised, however, to find his arm around her, holding her up. He stood at her left side, and his left arm curled across her chest, his hand on her right shoulder, her weight supported by him. He leaned her forward gently until his arm was on the box, and she was still on his arm. The ache from her butt, the feeling of two red, glowing, hand-shaped imprints on her skin flooded her awareness. She felt tears in her eyes. They weren’t just from the pain, but from a kind of catharsis. Her thoughts were blank. There was no room for anything but the physical sensation of this moment. And in the middle of that pain was that gentle stroke of his fingers again. That sensitive skin, hurting and feeling so good at the same time. 

It must have only been about two seconds, but it felt like minutes passed as her senses returned to her. The cool night breeze passing over her tender skin, and sending a chill as it reached her now very damp inner thighs. 

The Hunter leaned down and whispered into her ear “Don’t forget rule #1.”

She had forgotten. Would she have stopped it the moment of that first hit if she’d thought to? She wasn’t sure. It had completely left her mind. The thought of enduring more seemed impossible, but at the same time, she had no inclination to make it stop just yet. She had endured this much, she could certainly handle one more… Right? She simply leaned her head against his chest and groaned.

“Good girl,” he said, and didn’t leave even half a second for her to think about how that made her feel before smacking her right cheek harder--MUCH harder--than before, and immediately followed with a similar on the left. 

She drew in air raggedly, she hoarsely grunted out sounds that could have been prayers or curses had they been words at all, and was on the cusp of telling him to stop, but it only came out as “Ssst…” and then his gentle stroking hand was on her again, and the very last thing she wanted was for that hand to cease what it was doing right that moment. She felt an almost drunken smile stretch across her lips, the sweat on her brow making her hair stick to her face, and in a wavering voice, for reasons she couldn’t quite articulate later, she merely let out a very affirmative “uh huh…”

His hand stroked her ass, down the back of her thigh, and then back up the other. His fingers slowly, leisurely dragged through the wetness trickling out of her. She nudged her hips toward his hand, knowing that she should feel shameful, but also not caring what it took to have more of his hands. Still holding her, he felt her weight shift though, and pulled his hand away such that she pushed her butt straight back into the next slap, which was followed by two more, all on the right cheek, first at the side, then in the middle, and then from below. She felt her butt ripple under his hand. The familiar lightning bolt struck, and then the next two blurred into a long, drawn out shock. 

She cried out, and even she could not have said if it was in pain or in pleasure. The voice was hers, but she was not in control of it. His hands were pushing buttons in her psyche that she didn’t realize she had. She opened her mouth to let out another groan, and heard herself--or rather a desperate, animal part of herself gasp out, “Fuck me. Oh gods. Please, fuck me.” She bit her lip. She couldn’t believe she’d said it. She had offered herself up to this man, her friend. No. Not offered herself. She’d begged him to do it. A small voice in the back of her mind told her she should be ashamed, but between the pain, the intoxicating hum in her mind, and the throb in her loins, she had no attention to pay toward anything else. Her brain was free from all of her usual worries and concerns and inhibitions. 

She might have marveled at this longer, but the Hunter answered her request with three similarly firm slaps on the left cheek. Her legs trembled. No more words were coming to her, she merely gasped for breath. While she was reeling he leaned over her, and whispered in her ear again. “You agreed, no sex.” 

When she’d heard the rule initially, she thought it was silly. She wasn’t interested in him, so she saw no risk of this leading to sex. Now, she found herself cursing the rule. It wasn’t that she was interested in him. Not romantically, at least. But in his hands, she was clay that he could shape into sensation, and though she had little attention to think the matter through, she knew her body craved his. She knew that she wanted him to crave hers as well. She thought about his eyes on her. She thought about his fingers feeling her wetness. She thought about the things she could do for him if only her hands were free.

She felt herself tugging at her rope again, and found her hands were still bound. Her senses were coming back to her more slowly now, or perhaps her sense of time was becoming distorted by the pain. His hand on her backside was gentle, waiting, giving her time to tell him to stop if that’s what she needed. She simply planted her feet, raised her butt up, and offered herself for another slap. 

It came with a sharper pain than before. The actual hit was gentler--she knew it must be, because the force behind it didn’t move her--but on the now very tender flesh of her butt, it felt like needles were stabbing through. The pain was reaching a threshold she didn’t realize she could tolerate, and wasn’t sure she could much longer, but again, that gentle stroke of his fingers along the welts made her tremble. 

Again, he fell into a rhythm, similar to when they started. A smack--gentler than the lightning bolts, but with more pain--followed by the caress. Each time the caress seemed to last a little longer, and the smack get a little gentler, as her mind blurred the pain and pleasure into a thick soup of sensory experience. The world outside his arms and his hands vanished, and her focus narrowed wholly to her tender butt. She could not have said how long this lasted, how deep into the night her body danced to his touch like a puppet.

And then the numbness took on an urgency. Her trembling turned to shaking. Her mouth fell open and she couldn’t close it. The tiredness, the fatigue seemed to deepen, fold in on itself, and then blossom into a feverish elation, almost a panic. “I…” She started, and found that she was almost too light-headed for words. Another hit. Another caress. “I need to…” More pain, more warmth. “I’m… I’m going to…” His arms. His hand. Smacking, stroking, first here, then there. Everywhere warm, everything tender, every second feeling like her feet were ready to leave the ground. She gasped, her eyes went wide. “Stuh--... Sta--haaaaaahhhp!” 

The word that was supposed to be “stop” came out broken, the first half whispered, the second half nearly squealed. She didn’t know if he’d understood it or not. She only felt her knees give out. Her weight fell, and his arms both wrapped around her, one still across her chest, the other across her stomach, holding her whole weight. Her back was pressed against his chest, held tightly against him. Her hips bucked, her knees pressed in on each other, and she shook, shuddered, released. She couldn’t think. She couldn’t even catch her breath. She felt the world spin as she was lifted up, and carried, and set down somewhere soft. She felt the arms around her pull away, and she gripped one tightly, clinging to it.

“I’ll be right back. I have something for the pain.” The words registered in her mind, and she allowed herself to realize that yes, there was pain. A lot of it. She didn’t let go, but when he pulled away, she was reassured that she wasn’t alone, and when he came back moments later, without opening her eyes, she clung to him again. She pressed her head against his chest, and his next words she felt as much as heard. “Do you want me to apply this, or do you want to do it yourself?” 

She tried several times to start the sentence, but didn’t know how. She didn’t know what she wanted. Her mind was reeling, trying to find a way to say she didn’t need help, but also trying to convey that she didn’t want him to go. All that finally came out was “be gentle.”

And he was. The balm, made from herbs he’d gathered earlier in the day, went on smoothly. If not for the sense of lingering panic, and worry about what he might think of her after what had happened, it might have been exquisitely pleasurable. As it was, it was a comfort. Despite the pain, and that swelling sense of shame, she felt safe.

“I’m sorry,” she said, and as she said it, tears began spilling from her eyes. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for. You were really wound up, and you let all of that out. All the anxiety, all the stress, all the worry. That doesn’t go without causing a reaction. You didn’t do anything wrong. Heck,” he said, looking her right in the eyes and wiping a tear away with his thumb. “You took it like a champ. I never would have thought you’d take that much.”

She wrapped her arms around him and held on tight again. The moment was not a sexual one, but clearly was not strictly platonic either. His hand was still rubbing the balm to her naked butt, and though he shifted to make it less obvious, she felt the beginnings of an erection through the front of his pants brush against her stomach. She didn’t know what to make of that. She didn’t know what to think of the sensations she was feeling, or the fact that she’d had the most powerful orgasm of her life in his arms… or that she’d begged him to fuck her.

“Thank you,” she stifled a sob. “Thank you for not taking advantage.”

He rested his free hand on the back of her head. “Don’t. Don’t ever thank me for that. I was just following the rules we agreed to. Don’t hand out praise for doing nothing more than keeping my word.”

She stroked his chest with her hand. She was confused. She wasn’t used to a man seeing this side of her and still respecting boundaries. Her emotions were jumbled. She still felt ashamed, still felt her endorphins running high, still wanted him, and still wanted him to want her, and there was a brief streak of panic through her mind that the only reason he hadn’t taken advantage was because he wasn’t interested. The thought that he might be disinterested formed a cold nugget in her stomach, and she clung to the only thing that made her think otherwise. The hand she was stroking his chest with slid down his belly, and closed around the bulge in the front of his pants. It stiffened in her grip.

He took her hand away, and the cold feeling in her stomach returned, intensified. 

“Not tonight,” he said. “Emotions are still running high. Next time, if you want to go further, we can talk about that before we start. Only before. You need to be thinking clearly before you consent to something like that.” 

She nodded her head against his chest. She was glad--she did want him, but more than anything, right now she just didn’t want him to go. For the first time in her adult life, her mind was quiet, her anxieties and self criticism utterly silenced, and as much of a relief as it was, the quiet unsettled her. She was glad to have someone to share the silence with. She was glad to have someone to break that silence, even if only with his heartbeat. 

She dozed off in his arms, and slept more soundly than she could ever remember sleeping. 


	3. The Sweet Science

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With new confidence and a sense of adventure, the Guildmarm follows Doodle into the wild to see if the Monoblos has taken their bait. There may be something more dangerous out and about though...

**Chapter 3: The Sweet Science**

When Sopia awoke, the sun was shining brightly through the fabric of her tent, and wilderness beyond the base camp was vibrant with the sounds of life. It was a small miracle she’d slept as long as she had. She rolled onto her side, and saw that her shorts were neatly folded on the bed beside her. Her brain, still slowed from grogginess, was momentarily perplexed, and she touched her hip with her hand and was surprised to find it bare.

Her memory returned to the night before. The details were still vivid in her mind. The sound of the Hunter’s hand smacking against her backside. The cool evening air against her skin. The pain. The momentary lapse of judgment during which she had offered herself to the Hunter. The disappointment that he had declined. She knew that she should feel shocked at her own behavior, ashamed even. Or rather than saying she  _ should _ feel it, she knew that any other day of her adult life prior, she would have. Today, she was suppressing a smile about it. She felt slightly embarrassed, true, but the activities had been a kind of reset button. It had cleared her long bottlenecked anxieties, and left her feelings able to flow freely for the first time in… how long she couldn’t even guess.

She gingerly touched the skin of her butt, expecting a sharp reminder of the spanking she’d received, and instead found no pain at all. She gave herself a gentle, playful slap. She could feel a tiny bit of tenderness, but nothing substantial. That balm the Hunter had applied must have some impressive healing properties. 

After putting on her shorts and tying her hair back to prevent yesterday morning’s embarrassment, Sophia stepped outside to see how the day was really looking. The hunter was still in camp. He sat over a large mixing mortar, and poured water into some crushed purple leaves and what looked like berries, creating a soupy liquid that smelled lovely. 

A ghost of her prior worries made Sophia momentarily nervous about how to start a conversation with the Hunter, but she surprised herself again by feeling light as a feather, unafraid of the reaction she might get. She walked up with a hearty “Good morning!” 

“Hey! Good… Strictly speaking, I think we’re in afternoon.”

“Yes, but I only just woke, and if I say it’s morning, then what I say goes.” She rested her chin in her hand, closed her eyes, and nodded.

“Yes ma’am! Good afternoon it is, then!”

She smiled, relieved that there was no awkwardness in the exchange at all. She took a closer look at his work, and dipped a finger in the liquid. “Is this more of the same balm you put on m--” she cleared her throat. “That you used last night?”

“No no, that’s a poison meant to bring down a Duramboros.” Sophia withdrew her finger instantly, and began wiping it off on some nearby leaves. “Not to worry, it’s only a sleeping poison,” he continued. “If you’re not careful though, you might be telling me ‘good morning’ again after dinner.”

“Why are you planning to knock out a Duramboros? Has one been sniffing around camp?” 

“Oh no, nothing big comes up the pass here. I looked down from the lookout ridge earlier though, and there was one sniffing around the bait I left yesterday.”

“So you’re going to chase him off?”

“If I have to! It’s a good opportunity regardless though. On one hand, I can’t have the Duramboros eating my Monoblos bait, but on the other, the Monoblos might be more tempted by the presence of another large herbivore infringing on his territory than by the bait. If I can keep the Duramboros in the area long enough to whip up enough of its scent, we might get the Monoblos to show his face today! So you should be ready to move out on a moment’s notice. You won’t be in any danger at the lookout, but you should be able to hear the Monoblos roar.”

“About that. I was actually thinking… I was thinking I’d come with you today.”

The Hunter did nothing to hide his surprise. “Are you sure? I mean, I’m certain I can keep you safe out there, and a Duramboros isn’t going to be keen to make a snack out of you anyway, but a territorial Monoblos could be a hairy situation.” 

“Oh believe me, at the first sign of trouble, I’ll scurry off to a safe observing distance, but I don’t think they’re exactly likely to sneak up on us. And I think getting out there and seeing some of what you do first hand might be a real eye-opener.”

The Hunter gave her an appraising look, and then nodded. 

_____

A hasty job of getting dressed in light expedition gear later, and they were making their way down the footpath through the pass that led down to the valley proper. The valley floor was a dusty expanse bisected by a clear blue stream that ran out of a cave in one cliffside. The sound of rushing water from above, and echoing within, told Sophia that there was a waterfall inside the cavern, along with long roomy passages, making an echoing throat of the mountain. At the mouth of the cave was a net made of vines with various fruits sliced open and hanging in the cords. 

“That net isn’t nearly large enough to catch one,” Sophia remarked, mostly to herself. 

“It’s not meant to. You see the barrel braced against the cave wall at the side?” She did, and had previously supposed it was simply there to anchor the net. “When that net gets pulled away, that barrel opens, and launches flares into the sky. That was meant to be your signal, or mine if it was taken during the night. The net just lets the air pass through, so that the scent wafts into the cavern.”

Sophia was newly impressed by his ingenuity. Clearly, she had never thought him stupid, but she had always supposed that his focus was entirely on the physical combat of the hunt. She had never realized quite just how much proactive planning and engineering went into his work. Along with the previous night’s discoveries, she was learning about all sorts of skillsets she would never have guessed he possessed. 

They reached the end of the footpath, leading into the valley floor. Sophia turned and looked up the trail, not looking forward to the climb back up. But that’s what the Energy Drinks were for. She carried two on her belt. “One to get out of trouble,” the Hunter had said, “and one to get up the hill as fast as possible in case of emergency.” 

The valley floor seemed much smaller viewed from above, but down here she could see the rocky expanse was wide, and spotted with low shrubs. The edges of the valley maintained the denser vegetation of the surrounding jungle, but here none of it encroached. She expected that this was due to this area being an ancestral breeding ground to the Monoblos; very few small plants would survive under those feet, and large trees would be knocked down in their territorial fights. 

Sophia and the Hunter reached the mouth of the cave, and found the net undisturbed. The stony ground wouldn’t take much by way of footprints, but the scrape of giant nails along the stones told of enormous feet, and Sophia imagined, the heavy tail of the Duramboros. “So it ignored the bait after all. Did it smell the Monoblos?” She rested her chin in her hand again, before answering her own question. “Doubtful. Duramboros would typically rise to a territorial challenge, even one it’s not likely to win. Perhaps a predator.”

The hunter nodded. “I’ve never seen a predator large enough to duke it out with a Duramboros in these parts, though.”

“Oh size has very little to do with it. Look at you. You’re no bigger than a Velocidrome, and you could have it on its side in a matter of minutes. Especially with that poison you prepared.” She snapped her fingers. “That’s it! Even a small predator can be a threat if they have a way to incapacitate larger prey.”

At that moment, they heard a low howl coming from the ridge downwind. 

“Now that’s a sound I do recognize,” Sophia said. 

The Hunter had already closed his helmet’s face guard, and unstrapped his lance from his back. It’s dark bronze tip a deep purple, matched by his shield, both smeared with the sleeping poison the Hunter had mixed back in camp. He gave a brief, two syllable command that was probably “get back,” but muffled by his helmet she couldn’t be sure. She certainly caught the meaning if not the specific words, however.

A Zinogre, nose swollen, and fur ruffled, leapt down from the ledge. It had clearly been in a fight, and Sophia didn’t find it hard at all to conclude that it had chased off the Duramboros. It may have pounced on it from above in ambush, in an attempt to incapacitate it with electrical stun and paralysis. Its prey clearly ran away--after delivering a few defensive wounds--and the Zinogre now was eager to soothe its wounded pride. 

The Hunter did not wait to read the situation; he tucked his lance under his arm, and charged forward. The Zinogre, not yet fearing the smaller target, hunched forward, and rolled its massive shoulders. Arcs of electricity sparked between its shoulder blades, and found pathways through its fur to the ground. Given a few moments unhindered, Sophia knew that this would create a semi-perpetual current in its conductive fur, which would make him a much more dangerous enemy. 

The Hunter, though he didn’t know the physiology, was also aware that stopping that electrical charge was crucial. He continued charging forward, then kicked his right leg out in front of himself, skidding to break his momentum while swinging the lance out in a level stab at the foot of the Zinogre. The blow glanced off of the claws, shattering the talon itself, and scraping through the thick fur, but not doing much harm to the paw beneath. The monster pulled itself back, and then reared up with the injured paw raised. The Hunter heaved himself backward, barely out from beneath that mangled claw as it came stomping down where he had been. 

The Zinogre lost sight of the Hunter for the briefest of moments, and turned its head just in time to see the purple tinge of the poisoned lance as it stabbed at its jaw. The lance cut a shallow gash, and the Zinogre whirled around to safety, growled, and then raised itself onto its hind legs. It pounced at the Hunter, who simply planted his feet and braced his shoulder against the inside of his shield. He was pushed several feet back, his boots leaving two deep gashes in the rocky soil, but he stayed up right. 

The Zinogre, frustrated, drew in a great breath. Sophia covered hear ears. The Hunter, though, had no intention to let the monster voice its frustration. He took two strides forward, and swung his shield upward and to the right in a heaving backhand that caught the Zinogre right on his temple. The roar died as a grunt, and the Hunter landed two more backhands with his shield squarely on the bleeding nose of the Zinogre. Sophia had often heard boxers in the organized brawls refer to their technique as “the sweet science,” which had always struck her as absurd. However, watching the Hunter dance around the furious blows of the beast, and deliver clean counter-hits, she felt she finally understood. 

The battered monster snarled, and blinked its eyes. It shook its head, squinted, and shook again. With one paw he lashed out, striking wide. The Hunter, seeing that it was nearly on its last legs, took another step forward, and hit it one more time with his shield. The purple sleeping poison was smeared into the Zinogre’s fur now. It groaned, and on staggering legs, hurried to find shelter in the rocks. The Hunter had no interest in pursuing it further, and happily allowed it to retreat. 

The Hunter secured his lance to his back again, and raised his visor. “I thought you were going to run at the first sign of danger?” 

Sophia tilted her head to the side. “I suppose that makes the two of us surprised that I’m still here.” She had certainly been planning to run, and yet she never doubted for a moment that the situation was in hand. Her heart was racing, adrenalin pumping, but out of excitement and the thrill of the moment, not out of an overactive fight or flight response. 

“If the Zinogres are feeling safe to patrol here, that might just mean that the Monoblos are already gone for the season. I can’t imagine a Zinogre would be especially eager to run into one of those.” The Hunter shook his head. “This trip might wind up being a bust, I’m sorry to say.”

“Maybe. Maybe not.” Sophia thought for a moment. “The Zinogre’s wounds didn’t all look fresh. Let’s say the Zinogre was stalking the Duramboros for a day or more. He might have followed him several miles through the jungle before settling here. If he arrived while the Monoblos are in hiding, he wouldn’t even know yet that they’re here, in that cave.”

“You might be right. In any case, the air transport comes to pick us up at noon tomorrow. If it hasn’t shown itself by then, I’m afraid we’re out of luck.” He gestured back toward the footpath. “The bad news is, it’s just about time we make our way back up that trail.”

“Oh, that’s not bad news at all. True, I was dreading it on the way down, but right now I feel I could positively sprint the distance. And with all of the interesting findings I have to write about, and not all that many hours of daylight left to do it in, I may even be tempted to try!” And she meant it. For the first time in months, she was excited to be writing again. Finding the right word for every situation was no longer weighing on her. Worry that her insights would be met with lukewarm enthusiasm evaporated. Now she was eager to write because it was what she loved doing, and she had a topic she loved writing about, and the previous night’s experience had stripped away all of the obstacles to her doing just that.

During the walk up the trail though, she couldn’t help wondering if their last night out here in the base camp might prove just as eventful. 


End file.
